


I May Have Committed Many Errors

by meghanisadweeb (orphan_account)



Series: Washette+Martha Petplay 'Verse [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Master/Pet, Overuse of old-timey contractions, Safeword Use, finally over 1000 words lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/meghanisadweeb
Summary: Lafayette is pushed too far and a necessary conversation is had.





	I May Have Committed Many Errors

   This wasn't what Lafayette had wanted for his evening. He had been a bit ill in the previous days, but it was nothing serious. A minor sniffle and a bit of a sore throat. Monsieur's doctor had assured him he would be okay. He wanted a quiet evening, perhaps Madame would allow him to lie down in her lap while Monsieur read to him. Apparently, that wasn't what his owners had in mind.

 

    “M-Madame-” He whines, struggling against his bonds. Martha does nothing to console him, only slaps him on the arse.

 

    “Silence, boy. I've half a mind to have your ‘Monsieur’ come in here and give him your cock as a gag. We wouldn't want to pull him from his work, though, would we?” She hisses, dragging her sharp fingernails down his abdomen. His Monsieur is a very important person. He might be the next leader of the new States if some men would have their way. He swallows and shakes his head.

 

    “N-No, Madame. I can behave.” He glances down, pushing back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is what he deserves, after all. Monsieur and Madame are far too lenient with him. A strap instead of a rod or Monsieur's walking stick for his punishments, a soft pet’s bed in Madame and Monsieur's bedchambers, and soft caresses and gentle words if he's pleased them. 

 

   Madame grabs his manhood and pulls on it like she never has before. It’s almost a crushing pain that rushes through him, far too much to be pleasurable to even the most masochistic of individuals.

 

    “R-R-” The syllable is on Lafayette's lips before he's time to stop it. He thrashes against Madame's ropework and yells “Redcoat!” so loud he fears he's torn his throat.

 

~~~

 

    “Pet? Martha! I've roused Gilbert!” Monsieur is mopping at his brow. Is he… in Madame and Monsieur's bed? Why has he been permitted this? He certainly hasn't earned it. He's been petulant, disobedient, bad- his thoughts are cut short by a spoonful of broth poking at his lips.

 

    “Y-Your Excellency, I…” Lafayette's voice is unrecognizable to his ears, it's crackly and soft.

 

    “You were very good for making Lady Washington stop when she did, sweetest. You are always permitted to use your safe signal, you are aware of that, yes?” Monsieur's hand is in his hair, and with the broth warming his belly, he's quite suddenly feeling bold.

 

    “Monsieur… Could I, with your permission, maybe have a bed? I'd surely repay you for any expense you might have for it, and you could maybe beat me on it? You seem to enjoy…” Lafayette allows his question to hang in the air. He's not entirely certain how he might finish that thought. If he could have anything, he'd sleep on Madame and Monsieur’s bed. Even at their feet, without a pillow or blanket would be acceptable. 

 

     “Laf, we need talk over some things.” Monsieur murmurs, feeding him another swallow of broth before setting it aside.

 

    Is he going to be cast out? No, no, they wouldn't! That would be far more cruel than any strap or rod. He can be better behaved. He can show them as much.

     “I fear that perhaps you are not entirely satisfied with your current treatment. I would like to extend you an invitation to our bed. We've more than enough space for a slight young man like yourself, and it might be quite nice to have an extra source of warmth on terribly cold nights. And I would like to be more gentle with you, sweetest. The punishments are often taxing emotionally on me. I do not wish to see you harmed. I have a very deep regard for you.” Monsieur looks down at his lap.

 

   “I would… I would enjoy that very much. I-If… I'd rather not be punished for my French. It's not something I've much control over. French is my mother tongue, Monsieur, and it is just so hard for me to be punished for something through no fault of my own.” Lafayette could almost sob, for Monsieur is looking at him with the tenderness he’s always yearned to know from him.

 

    “Of course. Have you any other requests?” Monsieur smiles a bit and lies on the bed next to him. It’s rather tender and domestic, and he’s never felt such joy. He’s being looked at with the same love a young groom has for his bride.

 

    “I would quite like to be fed, I think. Hand fed? Like you were doing with the broth… I’m not entirely certain that I’ve ever felt so close to you, Your Excellency.” Lafayette cuddles into his owner, without fear of reprimand for the first time since he’s been at Mount Vernon.

 

    “I have been unfair to you, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette. I would not have you call me a title outside of our love play. When we are not playing in such a way, you are my equal, Laf. Please. Call me George.” While his pronunciation is less than spot on, the way that Monsieur- No, George. George. Says his name is like the way his mother used to say her rosary.

 

    He draws his head back to look at George. His commanding officer. His friend. His owner and one of his lovers and the man whom he’s given himself over to almost entirely. His body, heart, mind, and soul all belong to this man and his wife. He flings his arm around him and holds him close.

 

    “I am in love with you, General George Washington. Martha, too, but you especially.”

 

    “My feelings are entirely reciprocated. You have stolen what parts of my heart that don’t already belong to Martha as though you were a well-trained thief. I’ve no hope of ever getting it back.

 

   Lafayette falls asleep in his strong, warm arms. Nowhere else has ever felt as entirely like home as this bed, even for the short amount of time he’s been in it.

**Author's Note:**

> "Masochist" wasn't around until the late 1800s, btw.
> 
> ALSO! My idea for the next fic in this verse was someone finding out about Laf's situation.
> 
> So, who should it be? Hammy? TJeffs? A slave? Your Sonic OC? You Decide!


End file.
